


The Haint

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Boogie's Halloween Challenge - though not for a specific prompt . . . </p><p>Daniel Potter,  one All Hallow's Later</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Haint

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed, as I wrote it for a fast deadline, but beta-ing coming, I hope.

The moon was bright, thankfully, so bright that Daniel could see the path clearly, the worn ruts in the sandy dirt that had been carved out by so many feet and the wheels of wagons. It had rained last week, but the cooler autumn days and colder nights had dried the ground, for the most part. Loose leaves and grass scattered along the path, stirring when the cold breeze swirled around, but it was an easy breeze, not yet a full on wind. That would come later, probably in the early morning, or so Mr. Hawkins had said when he'd stopped by the store just before close to pick up another bottle of lineament for his joints.

Good thing Mr. Nathan had made up a fresh batch and come by with it a couple of days before. 

Though right now, as he sat on the ground watching the path that led into the nearby woods, he thought that maybe that cool night was coming on faster than Mr. Hawkins had said. 

He'd been sitting here for a while, watching and waiting. The moon was getting higher in the sky, which made the shadows in the trees darker. And the shadows around the tombstones. 

He tried not to think about them, tried not to think about the fact that he was sitting in a cemetery, waiting for midnight. 

The shivering was because it was getting cold, not because he was scared. Why should he be scared? Daniel glanced once more to the nearest tombstone. The top words were cast is shadow, but the bottom line was clear enough. Not that he needed to read them, he knew them by heart: 'Beloved Husband and Father”. 

They were comforting, a reminder that if what Mr. Josiah had said was right, then his father would be here soon. All Hallow's Eve, the night the spirits of the dead came back to Earth. 

It had been a little over a year since his pa had been shot by that bastard Lucas James. He hadn't known about this All Hallow's Eve spirit night then, or he'd have done it last year. And part of him was a little angry with Mr. Josiah that he hadn't told them then – it would have been good to see Pa again then, to be able to tell him the stuff he hadn't thought to tell him before, the little important stuff that had come to weigh on him so much. 

Mr. Josiah had told them, the children in the Sunday school class, about All Hallow's Eve back in the summer. He'd said it as if everybody knew about it, as if it weren't nothing important. Daniel had stared at him, thinking that he was teasing, thinking that if he were, it was a cruel joke.

But that wasn't Mr. Josiah's nature. He was one of the nicest men in town, once you got to know him. One of the peacekeepers, but unlike most of the others, he didn't carry his gun everywhere he went. And he spent a lot of time with Mr. Nathan, who was so nice that Daniel sometimes forgot he was one of the peacekeepers. 

No, it wasn't like Mr. Josiah to tease or lie about such things. Ma said that Mr. Josiah sometimes had some strange ideas, but that he was a good man at heart, and Daniel agreed with her. 

Which was why, after thinking on it for a while, he'd sat down one night and started his list of things to say to his pa. 

He'd been working on it as much as he could, usually at night, after the store had closed and they'd had dinner, and he'd done his chores and what reading his teacher wanted him to do. And after he'd worked with Meggy on her work, as she was still going to school every day and one of them needed to. She was also helping Mrs. Travis with her newspaper, which was good for Meggy and for Mrs. Travis. 

But if he weren't too tired after he'd done all he had to do, he would sit down on his bed with the papers he had, some of them worn smooth by his constant reading and writing on them. He had a couple of pencils he'd kept with him all the time, the way his pa had taught him, and he'd always make sure they were sharp enough to write clearly with. The list – the list was long, oh so long, and he'd had to rewrite it more than once. Every time he'd think of something new, he had to put it at the end and renumber the list, and after a time, it was too hard to read. 

He reached into his coat now, touching the bundle of papers that he had with him and looking once more at the moon. In his outer coat pocket, he had a candle and a couple of Lucifer that he'd taken from the hearth. He'd had a little pang of guilt at that – Lucifer weren't cheap, not the good ones that his ma kept for lighting the fire. But this was important; he couldn't afford not to have light so that he could read the list and ask his pa as many things as he could before the sun came up and his pa had to go back to wherever it was that he had come from. 

Heaven, Daniel was sure. His pa had been a good man, good to his ma, good to him and Meggy, and good to the town. Daniel had seen the list of people his pa had given credit to, and he knew that some of that credit his pa had never expected to see paid. And his ma didn't now, either. But she, too, kept giving some of those same people that help, and he knew it was because of his pa and how much she had loved him. 

He drew in a breath, feeling the chill a little more. He looked up, noting that the moon had risen higher but that there were clouds around now. It made the sky darker and the down here, the shadows deeper. 

The path, though, was still clear enough to see, and so far, there was nothing on it. No one on it. 

He sighed, wondering what time it was. His stomach growled, reminding him that he'd eaten very little at dinner, too worried about getting out here as soon as he could. His ma had frowned at him, worried that he was taking ill, but he'd told her he was just tired. Which he was – he'd been up late the past nights, trying to make sure his list was in order. She'd sent him off to bed, telling him that she and Meggy were going with Mrs. Travis and some of the other women from the town over to the church to confer with Mr. Josiah about the upcoming Thanksgiving potluck and re-enactment play. 

Daniel had taken that as a sign that he was meant to come here, to see his pa. 

But he was hungry now, and he was tired. Maybe that was why, when the clouds passed over the moon and breeze whipped up some of the leaves and grass, he wasn't scared. Instead, he looked once more to the path, but now, without the moon, it was too dark to see. 

He wondered if he should pull out his candle and light it. It wasn't a big candle, not one that would burn for a long time. And he couldn't see anything that looked like a ghost or a spirit, no white shapes or outlines in the trees. 

He wondered if when he did see them, he should be scared. Mr. Josiah had said that it was a time when the spirits of the dead were remembered by the living, when they walked among the living, sat with them to eat, laughed with them and talked with them. It hadn't sounded scary, not like the ghost stories he heard from his friends or that he read in the dime novels that they sold in the shop. 

He sighed, wondering what time it was. He'd never learned to read the phases of the moon, though he'd read that some people could tell what time it was by where the moon was in the sky. He reckoned that some of the peacekeepers could do that, Mr. Nathan most like, as he was a healer, and probably the tracker, Mr. Tanner. But them, most of them also had watches; he'd seen the fancy one Mr. Standish kept in his fine pants, and he knew Mr. Wilmington had one, as he was always talking about it – though he seemed to have a different story about it every time someone asked. 

“Why hello there.”

Daniel jerked, fear exploding in his belly and racing up his spine. For a second, he thought he might throw up, the taste of bile burning on his tongue. He hadn't realized he'd gone to sleep, but he must have; now, the moon was almost completely gone, only a pale circle of light burning through a haze of dark clouds. It was colder, the wind blowing more steadily, the leaves and grass moving as if in a strange dance. 

He stared at the pathway, then, seeing nothing, into the copse of trees. But again, there was nothing. 

Until a pressure settled on his shoulder, reminding him of where the voice had come from. Without thinking, he jerked away from the touch and cried out, his voice shrill in the air. 

“Whoa, now,” came the same tone from earlier, and something in it finally snagged on a memory; Daniel knew that voice, the soft tone, the long, drawn-out syllables, that strange lilting accent. 

As his eyes adjusted, he recognized the shiny chain of the gold pocket watch and the glint of the buttons at his coat sleeves. 

At the same time, Mr. Standish spoke again, his voice low and calm. “Your mother is quite worried about you. She came back from her meeting at the church, worried that you weren't well. Instead, she didn't find you at all.”

Daniel looked out again, but in the darkness, he couldn't see much. Instead, his mind supplied some images for him: his mother walking into his small bedchamber, finding it empty. After the loss of their pa, she'd been even more worried about him and Meggy, always thinking that things were worse than they were. Of course she would be upset when she couldn't find him – and he hadn't even thought to leave a note, more worried about getting out here to see his pa. 

He looked back into the forest, feeling a stir of anger that there was still nothing there to see. 

“Are you unwell, Mr. Potter?” Mr. Standish's voice was still low and calm, almost soothing. “Should I fetch Nathan?”

“No, no,” he blurted out, trying to draw in a breath at the same time, so that the words came out like squeaks. 

But Mr. Standish seemed to have understood. He patted Daniel's shoulder one more time, then he shifted, dropping out of his crouch and into a sitting position. “I surely did not mean to alarm you,” he said, sounding as if he had conversations like this all the time. “I was relieved to find you here and in one piece. Given your location, I thought perhaps you had come to visit with your father.”

Daniel blinked, finally catching his breath, and turned to look at the man. It was hard to see him clearly, the moon still behind the cloud, but he could see his the outline of his face, his skin light even in the shadow of his hat. “I – yeah,” he said, his mouth dry. “I did. How – how did you know?”

Even in the shadows, the man's teeth gleamed as he smiled. “At your age, my young friend, I did the same, as often as I could.”

Daniel found himself staring, wondering if he was hearing what he thought he was hearing. Mr. Standish was the hardest man of the seven peacekeepers to talk to. Mr. Larabee was gruff and scary at times, but ever since that day before Valentine's Day, when he'd bought candies for Daniel and Meggy to give to their ma, he'd seemed a little easier to talk to. Mr. Nathan and Mr. Josiah were good men, and so were Mr. Wilmington and JD, who was seemed to be as much of a kid as Daniel was himself. But Mr. Tanner and Mr. Standish – well, when they were in the store, they didn't seem to notice him or Meggy at all, and while they were always polite to his ma, they didn't talk much about themselves. Though Mr. Standish did seem to talk a lot about other things, now that Daniel thought about it. 

“You – you came out to talk to your pa on All Hallow's Eve?” he asked, or tried to. His voice was still unsteady and cracked from time to time. 

Mr. Standish tilted his head to one side, the brim of his Plainsman casting disappearing into the shadow of his father's tombstone. “All Hallow's Eve?” he asked. Then, softly, he chuckled. “You've been listening to Josiah.”

There was something in the way he said it that made Daniel sit up straighter. He liked Mr. Josiah, and he didn't like the way that Mr. Standish said that, as if there were something wrong in the idea of it. 

But, he thought, looking once more into the darkness and seeing nothing but – well, darkness, what if Mr. Josiah had been playing a trick on him?

What if his father wasn't going to come tonight, wasn't going to be there to hear his questions and the things he needed to say? 

The idea of it made his stomach twist and his eyes get hot. 

“You think,” he started, but the words didn't seem to want to come out right, tripping over his tongue and some of the sound was catching in his throat. He stopped, taking a deep breath and trying to get his mouth to work, but before he could go on, Mr. Standish spoke again.

“There is much to be said about the supersti – about the importance of All Hallow's Eve,” he said softly. “While I myself didn't grow up with the celebration of it, I have spent many a night looking for the comfort of loved ones I have lost.”

Daniel let the words sink in for a time, looking out into the shadows. The clouds over the moon parted a little, and the light brightened the ground around them. 

“What time is it?” he asked, pleased when his voice seemed less strained. 

Mr. Standish leaned back on one arm so that he could draw his pocket watch from the safety of its pocket in his striped pants. With the new moonlight, Daniel could just make out that his jacket was dark and his waistcoat was made of some material that was shiny in the light. “I believe it is well after 2 am,” he said. “Quite late for a merchant such as yourself, who must keep the hours of his customers.”

After two am. The knot in his stomach tightened. His father hadn't come. Or if his father had, he had slept through it. 

He wasn't sure which thought was worse. The papers in his coat pocket seemed to burn, scalding him with guilt. 

“Did you have an appointment?” Mr. Standish asked. “I have seen that you are a person of integrity and responsibility and it pains me to think that you have been disrespected.”

Daniel swallowed, unsure of what to make of the words. It was flattering, of course – Mr. Standish was a peacekeeper, and he dressed well and he was smart – everyone knew that. Though he was also, as his ma and Mrs. Travis talked about when they thought Daniel wasn't listening, also a gambler and some said he was a thief, though he had never stolen from Ma or Mrs. Travis. Or any of the other merchants in town.

“I have spent many a night out such as this,” Mr. Standish went on, as if not expecting Daniel to answer. “When I was about your age, perhaps a little younger, I lost my father. It was a difficult time for me and for my mother.” He fell silent, his head tilted up as if he were watching the clouds dance around the moon. 

After a time, Daniel's curiosity got the better of him. “He died?” he asked, though he knew it was a stupid question. 

“Of a fever,” Mr. Standish answered. “He was a doctor, a very good one, and he believed that it was his duty to treat the sick, even in times when there was no cure.” He paused, taking a breath of his own and still with his head tilted, unmoving. “He sent my mother and myself away, afraid that we would catch the disease – yellow fever, as it were. But he wouldn't leave, not as long as someone needed to be cared for.”

Daniel stared, surprised not just by the story, but by the fact that this man was telling it to him. “He sounds like a brave man,” he said, wishing he had better words. “Like you.”

He didn't see Mr. Standish move, but the shadow of his hat jerked, separating from the shadow of the tombstone. “I beg your pardon?” he asked. 

Daniel shifted away, feeling the stiffness of his back from sitting too long on the ground. “I'm sorry,” he rushed, “I didn't mean - “

“No, no,” Mr. Standish held up a hand, his pale fingers catching the light. “I appreciate your kind sentiment. I've never heard myself compared to my father – to be fair, I hardly knew him.”

“But you said you were about as old as me,” Daniel blurted out, confused. “I knew my pa.”

“Yes,” Mr. Standish said, his voice softer now. “You did. You were a very lucky young man. My father spent quite a lot of his time away from me and my mother. I must say, I envy you the time you had with your father. He was a good man – which is not to say that my father was not; obviously he was good to many. I just wish he had been a better father to me.”

Daniel looked away, up at the moon. It felt strange to hear someone say those words, to say something that he sometimes felt himself. He could never say it, though, never voice his own anger at his father. The days that he woke up angry, thinking that his father could have just done what that bastard Lucas James had wanted and he would still be alive, that his father could have thought about his ma and Meggy and him – he tried not to think that. Tried not to be angry, and more than anything, he tried not to let his ma know. “My pa,” he said slowly, “he was a good pa. He loved me, loved Meggy. Loved my ma. But . . . “ He stopped, not sure he could say the words. Not sure he should say the words. 

“But you miss him,” Mr. Standish said after a time. “As I missed my father. As I still do.” He lifted one hand, waving toward the moon. “I have spent many nights sitting under a moon such as this, in a place where I thought my father might come back to me – or at least hear my words. We all wish for the loves one we have lost to come back, or at the very least, to know how much we cared.”

The idea of it, the words, took Daniel's breath. It was what he wanted, what he had been thinking and hoping for since Mr. Josiah had talked about All Hallow's Eve. 

More, though, it was the awareness that he was not alone. That his anger, his fear, his aloneness, were familiar to someone else. 

As if knowing his thoughts, Mr. Standish went on. “Of course you know Mr. Larabee and the other men with whom I protect this town. Each of us has lost someone or someones dear to us – Mr. Larabee, of course, has lost his wife and child, and somewhat recently.”

Daniel did know though it was not spoken of in front of him. It was a whispered rumor that he had overheard when his mother and Mrs. Travis had been talking. To hear the story put so bluntly now, by someone close enough to Mr. Larabee to know that truth, was both shocking and warming. Mr. Standish was treating him as an adult or at least not as a child. 

“We have all, though, lost someone close to us. For most of us, it has been a parent – like you. Josiah lost his father and his mother. Nathan lost his mother and his father, as you may have heard, is quite ill and won't live much longer. JD's mother died which spurred him to come west – and he's not sure where his father is. Buck – Mr. Wilmington – has lost both of his parents. And though he does not speak of it or name her, Vin – Mr. Tanner – lost his mother at a very young age, and he, also, does not know where his father is.” Mr. Standish sighed and shifted, leaning back on his arms. “I suspect we have all, like yourself, spent many a night sitting in the dark, wishing for – well, many things.”

It was a lot to think about, a lot to take in. But the idea that came first to his mind, the one that still burned in his belly, was the one that blurted from his mouth. “You never saw your pa on All Hallow's Eve? He never came back to talk to you?”

For a time, a long time, Mr. Standish didn't move. It was as if he hadn't heard Daniel speak, and Daniel wondered if he should repeat the question. Or if he should ask something else and pretend like he hadn't asked. 

Or simply get up and go home. Or into the woods and look for his father. 

But as he stared into the darkness, the clouds seeming to grow deeper around the moon, Mr. Standish spoke. “My father has come to me many times, Daniel, as I think your father comes to you often. I know – believe me, I do – how much you want to see him again, to talk to him, to touch him, to ask him all the things that were never important to you before but that are now, when you know he's not there to give you those pointed answers.” He sat up, brushing his hands together to wipe away the dirt. “But the thing is, your father is there – he's with you all the time. When you least expect to hear him, he will be there, telling you to do something that you would never otherwise consider. He will be there, reminding you of all the good things that your mother does and how you should forgive her for the little things that make you angry. He will be there, in the laughter of your friends when they chastise you for doing something stupid. And he will be there when you come out on a night like tonight and sit in the darkness, waiting for him. Because he has been here all along.”

A drop of water, cold and thick, splattered against Daniel's cheek, then another splashed against his forehead. The sound of raindrops, heavy and slow, grew around them. 

Mr. Standish pushed up to his feet, adjusting his hat and wiping the dirt from his trousers. “Your mother is most worried,” he said, reaching out one hand. “While I appreciate your desire to be here, there is quite a lot to be said for talking to the living, as well.”

Daniel looked once more into the darkness of the forest, then along the area where the path should have been. No sign of his father or any other person buried here. 

“You've spent the evening thinking of him, haven't you?” Mr. Standish asked, still holding out his hand. “He's already with you, Daniel.”

Even as the rain sprinkled him coldly, Daniel felt a warmth in his chest. He wanted to ask his father's all the questions he had worked so hard on, but as he reached up, feeling Mr. Standish's strong fingers wrap around his and draw him to his feet, he knew that the answers to those questions were already in his mind. His father had answered so many of them already, in his love and his caring. 

“Let's get back to town,” Mr. Standish said, one arm reaching around Daniel's shoulders and pulling him in close. “Your mother is most likely beside herself – and I assure you, that is nowhere for a loving mother to be.” 

Daniel nodded, trotting along beside the taller man. 

But as they paused at the gate to the cemetery, Mr. Standish working to open it, Daniel looked back. The rain was coming down harder, the droplets shimmering in the pale light that leaked through the clouds over the moon. It made it hard to be certain of anything, but in the distance, near his father's tombstone, he thought he saw a pale figure lift a hand a wave to him. 

Before he could speak, before he could blink, the figure was gone. 

And in the back of his mind, he heard for the first time in a long time, his father's voice, echoing Mr. Standish's words: “I'm always with you, Daniel.”


End file.
